


Tuckington Prompts

by armadil_Lo



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:27:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/armadil_Lo/pseuds/armadil_Lo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I took a few prompts from the tumblr tag 'otp prompts' and decided to write them as Tuckington.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May I Have This Dance?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "May I have this dance?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Tex/Church wedding. Wash asks a lonely best man Tucker.

Wash had spotted him during the ceremony. In a black suit with a bright turquoise tie and a proud smile as he stood just to the side of the altar, he was clearly filling the role of best man. Wash only knew Tex through work, and even then it had taken him a few moments to work out who _‘Allison and Leonard’_ were when he received the wedding invitation. He sat on her side of the pews but spent most of the ceremony drinking in the view of the dark-skinned man. Wash assumed this was Church’s best friend, but he’d only met the groom himself at a select few work functions in the past and honestly had no idea who he was so openly staring at.

The man had dark brown dreadlocks pulled back and tied up, dreamy chocolate brown eyes, a matching complexion with warm undertones and the whitest teeth Wash thought he’d ever seen. His physique was accentuated through the way the tuxedo fitted him perfectly as he seemed to be quite well-muscled. Broad shoulders, Wash noted. And, _wow_ , did he pull off that aqua-coloured tie. Washington himself only went for a simple grey suit with a few subtle yellow trims.

The day had moved on to the wedding reception now and Wash swore he hadn’t taken his gaze off this captivating stranger in hours. He’d watched the way his eyes got misty during vows, the way he’d hugged each of the newlyweds so tight they could probably hardly breathe, the way he’d chatted and joked and laughed with several people Wash did and didn’t recognise, the way he quite frequently pulled out his wallet and seemed to show everyone he talked to a certain photograph that made his whole face light up. But now, the man was sitting on a wooden stool and nursing his first beer of the night at the open bar. He was alone, like Washington was as he leaned against a wall on the opposite side of the room, and seemed discontent to just watch as most of the crowd congregated in the middle of the room to dance. It was almost confirmed by this point that the man didn’t have a date, as there hadn’t been a single woman clinging to his side or man wrapping an arm around him in sight, but there were still doubts in Wash’s mind that made him hesitate. The question of sexuality was a big one. But even leaping over that hurdle came the question of Wash being his type.

Wash was biting his bottom lip and pondering his options when three things happened at once and everything aligned. The stranger took another sip of his beer, the music faded into a slow song and a hand clapped onto Wash’s left shoulder.

He jumped and turned to see two of his best friends standing beside him with encouraging grins. All York said was “Just go get him” before pulling Carolina along by the hand to join the masses of people now swaying in time to the gentle melody.

He took one more look at the man across the room and suddenly couldn’t take it anymore. He strode forward with purposeful steps until he came to stand before the object of his fascination with an outstretched hand.

“Hi. I’m David Washington, but everyone calls me Wash.”

_…Christ, he’s smiling at_ me _now_.

“Tucker. Don’t even ask about my first name,” he replied as he firmly shook Wash’s hand.

_…Christ, his hand is_ soft. 

“Nice to meet you, Tucker.” Tucker. It suited him. Wash’s surge of confidence had started to crumble but he managed to keep himself together to blurt out, “May I have this dance?”

If there was one thing Wash knew how to do, it was read people. He’d been staring at Tucker all afternoon and it was just too easy by this point to gauge his reaction.

Surprise flitted across his face first, his grin wavering for just a second before growing even wider. Slowly and deliberately, Tucker studied Wash’s face and then ran his eyes all the way down his body, blatantly checking him out. He seemed to like what he saw and quickly chugged the rest of his beer before standing up. (Wash realised that Tucker stood at a good four inches lower than him.) There was relief on his features now when he spoke.

“I was hoping just anyone would ask. But it looks like I hit the jackpot.”

A light flush covered Wash’s freckled cheeks and the shorter man chuckled. They made their way to become part of the crowd of people and found a space towards the middle. Tucker confidently wrapped his arms around Wash’s neck, who curved his own arms around Tucker’s waist.

Wash was almost surprised that they fitted together like two puzzle pieces as they swayed together. Almost surprised that their conversation never seemed to take any awkward pauses.

And he was almost surprised that Tucker let Wash lead him through the next dance. And the next one.

And the next.


	2. It's Your Stop Next

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “You and I ride the same bus home every day but never talk but then you fell asleep and sorry to wake you up (you look really cute in your sleep) but it’s your stop next.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wash sit next to Tucker then fall asleep on his shoulder hehe cuties :3 
> 
> (This is probably really shitty. I had to rewrite it because I didn’t like where it was going the first time, but I’m still not sure about the final product.)

Every night at 7 o’clock, Tucker catches the bus from the middle of the city, into the suburbs and gets off at a stop two streets away from his shitty house. Every night, he watches the same scenery fly past the same window as he sits in the same seat towards the back.

It goes this way for years. The only exceptions in Tucker’s schedule being weekends, holidays and sick days. And sometimes when he takes a day off work because Junior is sick and he has to look after his son.

Even the people on the bus have become a familiar blur of faces.

But there is one passenger in particular that has always stood out to him since starting to catch the bus a few months back.

He has blonde hair that seems to be darker, almost brown, at his temples. His skin is only slightly tanned and a smattering of freckles covers his nose and cheeks. His jaw is relatively square and going by the arms that are sometimes exposed when he wears tank tops, he seems muscled, lean. His shoulders are slightly hunched in that awkward posture that comes with being really tall. But what stands out the most are his eyes. Even from the back of the bus, those striking grey eyes immediately captured Tucker’s attention. He only gets to see them for a few seconds every day as the man gets on the bus two stops after him and usually picks a seat near the front, Tucker left to stare at the back of his head until he stands up again and gets off the bus only one stop before Tucker’s.

While Tucker makes friendly small talk with some of the other regulars on the bus (even considers a few of them to be close acquaintances), he never has the opportunity to speak with the admittedly beautiful grey-eyed man - mostly because he likes to sit close to the front while Tucker always sits at the back.

Until one night.

***

It’s been raining all day and Tucker is glad for the refuge of the bus after running through the storm from his office building to the stop. It’s 7 o’clock, just like always, and he puts his sopping wet duffel bag on the seat next to him, unable to afford the fancy briefcases he sees most people in the city carrying around. He notices as the bus lurches forward that the weather has forced more people to use public transport than normal. Already most of the seats have been filled up. Tucker’s had a shitty day and he really hopes no one tries to move his bag and sit next to him. He didn’t even smile at those ‘close acquaintances’ when he got on, a pounding headache just one of the things on a long list of reasons why he only has a frown on his face today.

He rests his head against the glass and thinks about seeing Junior when he gets home in around half an hour. In between the never-ending pile of papers on his desk and his boss breathing down his neck because of that minor slip-up last week, he received a call from Junior’s minder, Phyllis. She told him that he’d come home upset after school again. Tucker hates the assholes that can’t just leave his fucking kid alone. Hates that teachers are deaf to his pleas for help because of the colour of his skin. Hates that the sweetest little boy in the world has to go through the exact same shit that Tucker dealt with years ago.

“Is someone sitting here?”

But most of all, he hates that apparently he can’t even have a moment alone to think.

Tucker whips his head up, a glare already on his face and snappy remark on the tip of his tongue–

That quickly dissipate when he sees who has asked.

Up close, Tucker realises that his grey eyes have small, grassy green flecks towards the centre.

Mind blank, all he can do is shake his head and hurry to move his bag to rest by his feet. He stammers out some weak apology about making the seat wet, then gives a forced chuckle and awkwardly says his classic “Bow chicka bow wow.”

The guy looks at him like he has two heads and simply sits down in silence. Tucker’s throat goes dry and he sits completely upright now. Shit, why can’t he say anything? He’s only been wanting to talk to this guy for fucking months. But nope, suddenly he’s all clammy and shy and can’t think of one damn thing to say. His ears burn with embarrassment and he tries not to glance over at the man too often. 

At some point in the long journey from the city into the suburbs, the guy falls asleep, head lolling back on the seat. He looks tired, the skin underneath his eyes bruised with lack of sleep. Maybe he’s had an even worse day than Tucker’s.

But then his head rolls onto Tucker’s shoulder and Tucker knows for sure that this guy had a worse day than he did because this has just made his entire _week_. He can hear the small snuffling noises that are being made and if that is how he snores then that is absolutely fucking adorable. He knows his crush is kind of petty, mostly based off of the guy’s good looks, but is it really a crime for him to admire how cute he is while sleeping?

Tucker stays absolutely still for the man to sleep on him during the bus ride. He realises that he is going to be responsible for waking him up and getting him off the bus in time and takes his role a lot more seriously than he probably should, also wanting to balance giving the guy as much sleep as possible.

When the bus is two stops away from Tucker’s, he starts to gently shake the man.

“Hey, dude. Wake up.”

Those stunning grey-green eyes blink open blearily, a sleepily confused look on his face. Tucker can’t help the amused grin that forms on his lips in response - the first time he’s smiled all day.

“It’s your stop next,” he clarifies.

“Oh… _Oh_.” The man lifts his head off of Tucker’s shoulder and his cheeks flush pink, making the freckles stand out even more than they already did. “Christ, I’m so sorry. I fell asleep on you. I just had a really long day and-”

Tucker holds up a hand with a small laugh “It’s no problem.” And because he’s feeling a bit more relaxed, a bit more confident, a bit more _himself_ now; “I’m Tucker.”

“David Washington. Wash. God, I’m _really_ sorry, I hope I didn’t drool on you or anything.”

“You didn’t. Honestly, it was fine. I get it.”

Clearly still embarrassed if his blush is anything to go by, Wash gives a jerky nod. “Thanks for waking me in time.”

Tucker just shrugs, a little in awe of how utterly adorable the man is being right now. He’s just glad his awkward blunder when Wash first sat down seems to be forgotten.

“No, seriously,” he insists. “It would have been really humiliating if the bus driver had to wake me up at the last stop and kick me off. You probably saved me a heap of money on a taxi fare. Is there anything I can do to repay you?”

And, well, that seems a little over the top, but those gorgeous grey-green eyes are so earnest and how can Tucker resist?

“My stop is the one after yours. Dinner?” he boldly suggests.

A smile lights up Wash’s face as the bus pulls over onto the side of the road.

“I can’t tonight, but would tomorrow be okay?”

“It’s a date.”

Tucker would normally be embarrassed by his excited word-vomit, but Wash doesn’t dispute the comment. Only stands up, gives Tucker one more shy smile and a small wave, and walks down the aisle to get off of the bus.

The doors slide shut and Tucker sinks back in his seat, unable to wipe the grin off his face now.

He honestly doesn’t know why he didn’t just go sit at the front of the bus sooner.


	3. I'd Like It If You Stayed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I’d like it if you stayed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first thought when I saw this prompt was for fluff but then I had another idea and it turned out kinda sad but I didn’t want that so I went with the beginning of the sad and made it fluff instead?? Idek man. Set sometime around the start of Season 11 I guess? I wanted this to be cute but Tucker and Wash seem a little off to me. Let me know what you think I guess.

It wasn’t the first time David Washington had woken up screaming.

In fact, that was probably something of a regular occurrence in his life. It seemed like the moment he stopped having childish nightmares about monsters under the bed, he was signed up for a war he never wanted to fight and was having nightmares about actual monsters, the aliens he had killed or witnessed killing fellow soldiers. When he was drafted into Project Freelancer, those aliens in his dreams morphed into insurrectionists. Men and women he had murdered without a second thought. But then life took an unexpected turn and in his sleep he would see memories that never belonged to him. There were times when he’d wake up and still be in the mindset of _Leonard_ , the name ‘Allison’ – or even sometimes ‘Alpha’ – on the tip of his tongue, before he remembered himself. Years went on and eventually the traces Epsilon left behind in his brain began to fade. They became less frequent maybe, but his nightmares never ceased. They turned into scenarios where he watched his friends die – both old and new. The freelancers, the blues, the reds. Situations where he wasn’t in control, where he couldn’t help them, where it was his fault they were killed, where he lost everything again. He never showed it when he was awake, but in his sleep his fear ran wild.

You think he’d get used to it after so long.

So, no. It wasn’t the first time Wash had woken up screaming.

But it _was_ the first time Lavernius Tucker had come running into the room.

***

Wash bolted upright in a cold sweat, hands gripping the edges of the makeshift bed and every muscle in his body stiff. He stopped screaming the second he realised he was, panting heavily afterwards. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and felt the corners of them become wet with tears he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop if he tried. A broken sob rippled through his chest and his mind raced as it sleepily tried to catch up to what was happening. He was still seeing the images his mind had cruelly forced him to watch, whole body shaking.

“Wash!”

He jumped when Tucker burst into the room, dreadlocks askew and alien sword activated in his hand. Despite wearing no armour and simply a loose t-shirt and pair of sweatpants, he was in a defensive position, as if ready to attack. The walls of their temporary base were thin – it made sense that someone in the crashed aircraft would have heard him screaming.

Wash, staring up at Tucker in the sudden bluish light the sim trooper’s weapon emitted, gave a pathetic sniff and another weak sob.

Tucker’s stance relaxed and his eyes went from alarmed to soft in an instant. He deactivated the sword and the room went dark again, faint moonlight leaving them in silhouettes. Tucker quickly made his way over to Wash and bent down, placing his hands on either side of the agent’s face. “Are you okay?” he whispered gently. Wash could feel Tucker’s breath on his face and was sure his still laboured breathing probably felt like a steady wind to the other man. 

Normally, Wash hated feeling small. He hated showing weakness and presenting himself as anything other than a fierce leader and protector. 

But right now, he needed to feel protected.

He shook his head and managed to force out around the lump in his throat, “I-I’d like it if you stayed with me.”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Without hesitating at all, Tucker slid himself in next to Wash. Feeling in the dark, he ran his hands down Wash’s arms before gently prying his fingers from their tight grip. He slowly pulled Wash down so that his head was resting on Tucker’s chest, curled against his warm body. “Is this okay?”

Wash didn’t even bother replying, just let go of whatever thread he was holding on to, let himself go.

One of his hands came to clench the material of Tucker’s shirt as he wept bitterly. It had been a long time since he’d cried like this, even his gasping breaths coming out in choked sobs. And Tucker just stayed silent, held him tightly, provided comfort simply by being there.

Eventually, Wash had no tears left to cry and spent several minutes steadying his breathing. For a long while, the two men just lay there together. Both were wide awake, comfortable in each other’s company.

“What was it about?” Tucker asked into the darkness of the room.

“I don’t remember,” Wash lied, voice hoarse. He didn’t _want_ to remember was probably more accurate. Especially not when the man he’d just seen be slaughtered in his dreams was the one comforting him.

Tucker decided not to persist, which Wash was grateful for. His body was warm and firm against Wash’s. It was... nice to say the least. The healing effects of physical affection had long been forgotten by the former freelancer, but having another presence next to him right now was slowly filling Wash with a pleasant feeling he didn’t quite know how to describe. And after another long while, he felt Tucker crane his neck and press a kiss to Wash’s head.

David Washington could _definitely_ get used to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Okay but seriously it's been two days since I posted the first two instalments and I already have over 100 hits and 17 kudos?! I'm used to posting on Wattpad and this level of recognition, as small as it may seem to some of you, is actually really astonishing to me. Thank you all so much!!)


	4. A Better Offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "I'm sorry but I was told to punch you in the face. I don't know why but they're giving me $20 to do this. If you can make a better offer I won't do it though."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "$30 for a kiss instead"  
> I originally wrote this with the roles of Tucker and Wash swapped around but it just seemed wrong and the characterisation was off, so I hope it reads better this way. High school au.

“Hey, you!”

Wash tried to keep walking at first but the hand pulling on his elbow forced him to turn and face the group of seniors who had called out to him.

“You’re that David kid, right?” the boy who had grabbed his arm asked.

He briefly wondered how the hell a senior knew who he was when he remembered that he’d made a name for himself by punching up those assholes who had been harassing him last week. Nobody had tried to mess with him since, but he wasn’t sure how good it was for him to have a reputation. He’d managed to go unnoticed until now after all.

He hesitantly nodded and yanked his arm out of the boy’s grip. A couple of the people behind their supposed leader snickered.

“Great. See that guy over there?” The boy pointed past Wash’s head and across the courtyard.

Wash turned and searched the crowd of students talking and eating their lunches.

“...Do you mean the one over by the tree?”

“Yeah, him.” Wash looked back at the boy warily after hearing the change in his voice. It was more.. menacing.

“I need you to go punch him for me.”

“What?!” Wash spluttered, eyes widening.

“I have twenty dollars.” A bill was being shoved in Wash’s face. “Twenty dollars if you go punch him in his stupid fucking nose.”

Wash scrambled to make sense of the situation. “If I- Why would I-?”

“Because I said so,” the senior interrupted with a warning tone. “You go and punch that guy,” he said firmly, “and come back for your twenty dollars.”

One of the other older students stepped forward and put their hands on Wash’s shoulders, forcefully spun him around to face the guy they wanted him to hurt, and gave him a shove in that direction. 

Not wanting to spend another second near them, he quickly started approaching the guy. He was leaning against the tree with his arms folded, not eating or anything, and seemed to just be watching the high school students go about their various lunchtime activities in the courtyard. Wash recognised him as one of the sophomores who had been at the soccer team try-outs the previous week, making him in the year below Wash himself. He had brown skin that made his white tee and light blue jeans stand out even in the shade of the tree and dark brunette dreadlocks that just reached his chin, tucked behind his ear on one side. As Wash got closer, he noticed that the boy was a lot shorter than him. (Undoubtedly because Wash had hit his growth spurt early and never seemed to stop getting taller, and this boy practically still had the height of a middle schooler.) But while he didn’t look extremely intimidating, the slight muscles on his arms told Wash that he would be more than capable of returning a punch.

The boy looked up when Wash was standing right in front of him. He raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Wash glanced over his shoulder and wasn’t surprised to find the group of seniors watching him from afar with crossed arms. One gave him a thumbs up that somehow seemed sarcastic.

He balled his hands up into fists...

“I’m sorry, but I was told to punch you in the face. I don’t know why, but they’re giving me twenty dollars to do this,” Wash blurted, uncurling his fingers and looking at the ground.

Surprisingly, the guy just laughed at him. “Let me guess, those fucks over there?” Sure enough, he gestured to the ones who had put the junior up to this.

Wash nodded. “If you can make me a better offer I won’t do it though..?”

He looked up to find the shorter guy smirking at him now. And _holy shit, are people allowed to be that attractive? His smirk is literally lopsided. How is that at all fair? And- Christ, is that a lip ring?_

“What’s your name?” 

“..W-Washington. Um, Wash.”

“Well, _Wash_ , I have thirty dollars if you give me a kiss instead.”

For definitely not the first time in his life, Wash was speechless.

“...What? You wanted a better offer. Plus, you’re hot, I’m hot, we’re a perfect match. Seems like a good deal to me.”

After another few moments, the boy simply shrugged at Wash’s inability to speak.

And then moved forward, grabbed a fistful of Wash’s shirt, pulled him down and pressed their lips together.

It was fleeting and a little clumsy and more than a little awkward with their height difference, but it still somehow left Wash wanting more of that minty taste on his lips. The boy released him after hardly a second and he went springing back up to his full height, barely having time to process what was happening. It was safe to say he was kind of in shock.

The boy was smirking again, more of a satisfied look on his face this time. He took one moment to dig around in the schoolbag Wash hadn’t noticed was by his feet, before holding out three ten dollar bills towards him. Wash only shook his head mutely, which earned him a “Suit yourself then” as the guy pocketed the money and shouldered the bag.

It wasn’t until he started walking away that Wash finally spoke again.

“Wait! You never told me your name!”

Another smirk over his shoulder and the boy simply called back, “Tucker.” He then sauntered over to two approaching guys – one with glasses and a scowl, the other with a large, naive grin – that Wash twigged he must have been waiting for. Tucker gave them both one-armed hugs and a high-five in greeting. Then he turned one final time and sent a wink in Wash’s direction, like he knew he would still be standing there.

As Wash lightly pressed his fingers to his tingling lips, he found that he wasn’t worried about how that group of seniors would react. He didn’t want anyone’s money anyway.


	5. Tastes Better This Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Person A eating chocolate and then person B just kisses them and won’t stop kissing them between bites (because the chocolate taste) so eventually A asks B if they want chocolate but B shakes their head and goes “It tastes better this way””

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Literally all I wrote in my notes for this prompt was ‘A: Wash, B: Tucker, like YAS’. This turned out pretty short, sorry.

The only reason Wash didn’t offer Tucker any of his chocolate in the first place was because he’d been on some kind of health kick lately. Which was just plain weird in itself, let alone that Tucker was avoiding _chocolate_. But nevertheless, he would respect whatever his boyfriend wanted to do. So when he sat down on the couch with his block of chocolate, Wash didn’t ask Tucker if he wanted any.

The ad break on the television ended and the couple resumed watching the movie, Wash quietly breaking off pieces of chocolate and munching on them, Tucker curled up to his boyfriend’s side.

Almost out of nowhere it seemed, as Wash was breaking off another piece of the sweet treat, Tucker put his hand on his boyfriend’s face and turned it so that they were looking at each other. Then he leaned up and pressed his lips to Wash’s. It was a short kiss, more like a peck, and when Tucker pulled away he started licking his own lips.

“What was that for?” Wash asked, looking down at Tucker questioningly. The dark-skinned man only shrugged, a smile on his face.

Wash turned back to the movie, a little confused but not about to complain, and popped another piece of chocolate in his mouth after a few seconds. But as soon as he swallowed, Tucker’s hands were back on his cheeks, pulling Wash’s head down so their lips could meet again. This time the kiss was more forceful, more intimate. It wasn’t until Tucker’s tongue slid in that Wash understood.

They eventually broke apart, both panting a little. Wash rested his head on Tucker’s forehead and caught his breath. He was still holding the chocolate in his hands, not having done anything with them while making out with his boyfriend, and he snapped off one more bit experimentally. He placed it into his mouth and savoured this one, letting it melt on his tongue for a few moments, eyes never leaving Tucker’s. And sure enough, as soon as Wash swallowed, Tucker dived right back in. Wash dropped the chocolate bar onto his lap and let his arms curl around his shorter boyfriend, movie forgotten now.

The next time they stopped kissing to get some air, Wash offered Tucker some chocolate.

Tucker shook his head, smirking. “It tastes better this way.” Wash couldn’t argue with that.

Tucker didn’t even wait for him to eat any more before pressing their lips together again and Wash chuckled into the kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another massive thank you again for all of the reads, kudos and comments. It means a lot :)  
> ...And I just realised I called them 'reads' instead of 'hits' because I am still in Wattpad mode haha. I think they're the same thing anyway! But if you want to find me on Wattpad for my non-fanfiction works (and some fanfiction too that I haven't put on ao3 yet), then it's the same username: armadil_Lo


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